


Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

by anon_writer634



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (And other nerdy shit), Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle, Betrayal, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mythology References, Slow Burn, Swordfighting, Swords, That's actually just a maybe and I might chicken out, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29371638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anon_writer634/pseuds/anon_writer634
Summary: Title translation: "If you wish for peace, prepare for war." - VegetiusIn the land of Ekosia, George is king. After an attempt on his life, his advisor Wilbur decides that he can't continue to carry out this role without a knight to protect him. Unfortunately for Wilbur's plan, George became king after his father was killed by his guard.Now, he's trapped with a knight who is completely insufferable: far too cocky, refusing show what he looks like or even share his real name, going by "Dream" at all times. Will Dream turn out as someone he can trust? Or will George live in fear of meeting the same fate as his father did?Knight!Dream and King!George
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A section of personal disclaimers:  
> 1) If I ever imagine something in my work could be triggering in any way (i.e. violence, blood, alcohol), I will include a warning for it at the beginning of the chapter. If there's ever something I don't put a warning on, that you think deserves one, please don't hesitate to leave a comment.  
> 2) The rating on this fic will most likely change with time.  
> 3) Sadly, my name for George's kingdom, Ekosia, has no deeper meaning. I just thought it sounded nice.
> 
> The required disclaimer: Dream and George don't care about being shipped and they don't care about fanfiction. If that ever changes, I will remove this. Please do not put me in a situation where the CC's involved see this, and please do not harass CC's in general over ships. Don't repost this on another website, either.
> 
> With all of that being said, I hope you enjoy, and I'd love to see kudos/comments/feedback. They mean the world :)
> 
> P.S. If you recommend this to anyone, I love you. Also, author uses any pronouns.

George paced across the room, ears ringing and frustration scorching his skin. He wasn’t a child anymore, it wasn’t right for any of his advisors to worry. He was aware of the risks of being king, those risks were the same ones that had made him so fearful only a few months ago, but he had moved on from them. Of course, it was only once he had decided to not let these things dissuade him that something like this would happen. Yes, he was afraid again. He’d be a fool if he wasn't, and he did not consider himself a fool. Unfortunately, he found admitting that to be more frightening than the attempt on his life.

Why was it that something like this had to happen now? He had been able to maintain an air of confidence for so long, he felt nearly untouchable. Winning battles gave him more of a rush than anything else would, the satisfaction survival and victory could bring was so strong that he chose to ignore it — bloodlust was not a good look for a ruler with such high status, and there had already been enough concern over it in the past. He could hear his breathing getting shaky, it was almost covered by the light taps of his shoes on the floor, but not enough for it to vanish completely. He was hit by a strong wave of resentment. That shakiness felt like a betrayal from his own body.

He heard three sharp knocks on his door, and he stopped his movement. Sliding into a chair that sat beside his window, he cleared his throat and straightened his spine, sliding into the formal demeanor he was used to with ease and a few deep inhales.

“Come in.”

A lanky man, clad in tight-fitting pants and a stiff-collared shirt, flung open the door. He had a cheerful brightness in his eyes, but it was quickly silenced by the severity in George’s. He walked over slowly, trying to appear unthreatening.

“I know you’re upset,” he said softly, choosing to lean on the chair facing the king’s.

“Yes, Wilbur, you’ve made an excellent observation. You’re going to do what I’ve forbidden for months, why wouldn’t I be upset?”

“Your majesty, it’s perfectly reasonable to have a knight to protect you. Most aristocrats do. I know it's a different scenario for you, but couldn't you at least give it a shot?” Wilbur pleaded, nearly wincing at the look George gave him. Sometimes he forgot about the ferocity his friend possessed, to the point where he wondered if he could consider the king a friend. They grew up with one another, but now they were really just two people who worked together. He wondered when and why they had drifted apart.

“I don’t want to accept one because I don’t want to look like a coward,” George bit. “And I don’t want to accept one because I don't want to end up like my father."

“You haven’t met him yet,” Wilbur sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew it made him look nervous. He _was_ nervous. “Most people don’t even know who he is, but he seems like your kind of person.” An eyebrow was raised in his direction, and he took it as an invitation to continue his explanation. As he continued to speak, he sat down, finally facing him properly. “He’s a little scary, supposedly. Quite harsh. I’ve heard about the way he fights, and I don’t think he’s ever lost.”

“You haven't seen him on a battlefield,” the young man facing him muttered, "and you have no way to know what his morals are. You think he's trustworthy, but anyone can appear that way. Why am I meant to take your word for this?"

"You've been dancing around the subject since you came to power. There's no guarantee that you'll be harmed by him."

"I will not blindly follow whoever you consider 'worthy enough' to protect me," George said, shifting in his chair, and quietly wishing Wilbur wasn't kind enough to worry about his safety this much.

"Would you rather have a _different_ knight? I'm not sure what to offer," Wilbur said, beginning to sound annoyed.

"No, I'd rather not have any of them," George replied haughtily.

"You don't know any of them besides Nick!"

“Have you forgotten about I fight beside them?"

“If you fight beside them, it shouldn’t be so hard to accept the protection of one,” Wilbur grumbled.

“Oh, but you see, it is,” George said, allowing a small smirk to show on his passive face. “It’s hard to appreciate their presence when your skills constantly outshine what they are capable of.”

“Where’d this kind of ego come from?” He questioned, chuckling in surprise. He began to hope that the shift in his mood was a sign that he would relent.

“It happens when you outlive most of them,” George answered matter-of-factly. The smile that was beginning to form on Wilbur’s face disappeared. He wiped his hands on his trousers and stood.

“You’ll get to meet your guard tomorrow,” he said firmly.

“Is he my knight or my guard?”

“Guard, technically. But he'll have been a knight first, that’s how I know he’s suited for this kind of thing.”

"When I meet him, that's how I'll decide to accept. If I don't like him, or don't find him capable, I won't let him near me," George decided, letting his head drop onto the back of his seat, a groan escaping him. The king and his guard. How irresponsible was he going to look? He supposed he’d have a few more hours of freedom, and then he’d have to meet whoever Wilbur intended to hire. Perhaps he could make the guard quit.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he dismissed. “Goodnight, Wilbur.”

____

The glow of the moon outside George's open window was ominous, filling his room with a strange and eerie light. The heavy curtains surrounding the opening sagged lightly, and they reflected the shimmer of the night sky. The mirror on his wall made him look like no more than a shadow, even as he walked closer, and the covers on his bed laid rumpled. Allowing his view to be illuminated, he strode towards the picturesque crescent. He trailed his hand along the gray stone of his wall on the way there.

Looking down, he could spot two young men walking side by side, still half-dressed in their armor. George let out a sound of relief as he turned around and snuck down a hallway.

Exiting the castle, admiring the vines that clung to its walls, he came face-to-face with the knights. 

"Nick," he greeted. One of the men nodded, the other turned to face his friend with a befuddled look on his face. 

"Your name is _Nick_?" 

It was George's turn to not understand what was going on as Nick scowled in annoyance. "Goddamnit, George," he complained. "Karl couldn't figure out my name, and you ruined the streak. I was hoping I could leave him in the dark for a little while longer."

 _That's right_ , he remembered, _all the knights call Nick "Sapnap."_ He had no idea where a nickname like that stemmed from, and he had accepted its existence for so long that he wasn't sure he wanted to ask. _Why would the man named Karl not know his real name?_

As if he could hear his thoughts, Nick hurried to explain, "He's sort of new here. It became a running joke that he didn't know my name, even though he spends more time with me than anyone else here."

"Well then, I'd consider what I just did gracious," George scoffed. The expression on Karl's face morphed from confusion to surprise as he watched his friend, one of the least proper people he knew, interact so comfortably with his king. He knew that the two of them were friends, but nothing could've prepared him for seeing something like that; a cold-hearted ruler and a bubbly knight. "And if you wouldn't mind," he continued, looking pointedly at Karl, "I really do need to talk with him."

"Of course!" Karl exclaimed, unsure how he could even turn down the request in that situation.

"Thank you," he said smoothly. "It was excellent meeting one of _Nick_ 's friends." George decided that any time he saw Nick with a fellow knight he'd be sure to use his real name.

Karl jogged towards the castle's looming entrance, slipping past a few of his other friends who had returned from training. The king let out a sigh of relief at the sight, and he grabbed Nick's arm. 

"Alright, I'm going to need to interrogate you about something," he said, once he was comfortable with the distance between them and the people guarding the heavy wooden doors.

"What?"

"Have you spoken to Wilbur recently?"

"Not really. What happened?"

"He wants to get me a guard. Someone who's a knight," George mumbled with distaste.

"Why the hell would he do that? Especially after your father-"

"Because I was nearly killed last week," he said numbly. Nick’s eyebrows shot up, and he went silent. His fingers, which had previously been fidgeting, stilled. George stopped his movement, uncomfortable at the reaction he received, almost wishing he hadn’t mentioned it. He reminded himself that the embarrassment would be worth it if he could only figure out who Wilbur intended to assign as his guard. “Please don’t be worried about it. I’m fine,” he reassured.

”You’re fine?” Nick asked, incredulous. “You nearly died, but ‘don’t worry, you’re fine?’ George, what happened?”

”I’d rather not explain it.” His voice had grown tight, and Nick’s face softened.

”God. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. And I hate to ask, especially after that, but why were you telling me about the guard situation?”

”I’m hoping to hire you,” George deadpanned.

“You know I’d accidentally poison you myself, don’t even joke about a scenario where I’d be in charge of your safety,” Nick laughed.

”What I had been hoping was that Wilbur spoke to you about it. If he hasn’t, I’ve got a slight description of who he wants me to meet tomorrow.”

”He hasn’t. I’m sorry I can’t offer any help.”

”Don’t be, it’s a strange request. Unfortunately, I need to ask something stranger now. Do you know anyone who fits the description of secretive, harsh, and ‘someone I’d probably like?’”

”Definitely not. Everyone knows I’m the only knight you actually enjoy the company of,” Nick teased.

“Thank you for the valuable information. How can I ever repay you?” George said with a solemn voice. The two of them grinned at that, and they continued to walk around the perimeter of the castle; Nick, happy to be in the company of his friend, George, procrastinating his return to avoid Wilbur's concern.

____

George lay awake that night. He found that tossing and turning in the dark was more favorable than sleep. As much as it angered him to be alone with his thoughts, he imagined that his dreams would be worse. Positioned on top of his blankets, shivering, he wondered to himself: _Will I become a cautionary tale, just like my father_ _?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we'll get dream content next chapter i promise


	2. Chapter 2

Once again, George and Wilbur were facing one another, but it was now in his throne room. The king felt the urge to tap his foot in anticipation, but he forced himself to hold back. Wilbur was standing next to the doors of the lavish area, waiting to hear a knock he had instructed the soon-to-be guard to give.

The advisors and other members of George's court milled about, talking to one another, but none particularly interested in him. It seemed like they wanted to keep their distance, and he was perfectly comfortable with that. Some appeared excited, some looked about as doubtful as George felt, but most of them were disinterested. He loathed them, and he wished he hadn't become so terrorized by the prospect of gaining something that was supposed to protect him, but that was the harsh reality of being a king. _Everyone here might be out to get me_ , he pondered. _But I can never let myself believe that, or I'll end up on the brink of insanity._

He was beginning to think that luck was on his side -- maybe the knight wouldn't show up, maybe Wilbur had been bluffing, maybe he wouldn't be forced to live in a constant state of paranoia -- when he heard the dreaded knock. _Oh, God._

The man who walked in looked like pure menace. He wore a full suit of shiny, silver armor, and it glistened even though the only light nearby was dim and emanating from candelabras. His left hand had a noticeable scar on it, his sword lay tightly sheathed against him, and he stood at an intimidating height. He had blond hair, long enough that tufts of it framed his harsh jawline. The most unusual thing about him, however, was what he wore on his face. 

Instead of wearing a helmet, a circular white mask covered his features. The knight's eyes were nearly covered, but there were minuscule holes at their location. It seemed like just enough to retain his sight. The only thing visible were small flashes of a sage-like hue, and George wondered if concealing his identity or discerning what was in front of him was more of a priority to the man who stood before him. His nose was also hidden, but his mouth (marred by another scar passing through it) was not. The sharp, conceited smile he sported in that area made George want to hit him.

"Your majesty," the knight murmured, the low and quiet pitch of his voice still managing to reverberate across the room, sweeping a hand out into a great bow. It was such a dramatic movement that it was unclear if it was an act of immense respect or mockery.

"Sir Wilbur," George said as he gritted his teeth, becoming addled by the mere sight of his new guard, "would you care to introduce him?"

Wilbur dropped into a bow as well, but it was much more shallow than the one George had received a moment ago.

Speaking to the entire court, he announced, "This is Sir Dream. He's one of the most impressive fighters I've ever met, and I think he's more than capable of being tasked with the protection of our king. If you'd like proof, prior to his introduction here, I asked that he duel several knights that were hand-picked by myself. He beat every single one." 

"Dream?" The king repeated curiously, gnawing at the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from saying something regrettable. "I'd like to know his real name, and I can't imagine that his mother called him that."

"She didn't," Dream answered calmly. "But I don't give out my name. No face, no name, it means no issues can arise."

"I'm supposed to trust a man whose face I can't see and name I don't know?" George asked in outrage, looking at Wilbur with a gaze that promised repercussion. 

" _Your_ _majesty_ , he's the most suited man I've spoken to for this. He's more than qualified." The king winced as Wilbur referred to him as "your majesty," he was always uncomfortable when he heard it. George wanted to be friends with Wilbur, he was one of his most trusted advisors, but he couldn't help it when their interactions became forced. A friend seeing him as a superior made his skin crawl. It made him want to defend himself, shout at them, " _Do you think I chose to be king? I was forced into it! I never_ wanted _this, but I'm trapped!"_

A voice snapped him out of his reverie. Dream walked closer to him, and as he did, he said silkily, "You may not trust me, but you can learn to. Give it a shot, just a few weeks under my supervision. It'll be up to you whether you keep me around afterward." George wanted to see Dream's head atop the sword that sat against his waist. 

"Wilbur," he addressed, doing everything he could to avoid direct contact with Dream, "he gets one week. If anything goes wrong while this man is guarding me, he'll never step foot in my kingdom again." The court members, who had been softly tittering to one another, went silent.

"Wouldn't be my first exile," the knight said cheekily, clearly pleased by the reactions he had incited. It was unclear if he was joking or not. Something told George that the knight would've mocked his decree if he hadn't been in front of such a large crowd.

Deciding that he couldn't bear to linger any longer, he sat up from the throne and headed towards the exit. Behind him, Dream shrugged lightly towards Wilbur and followed. As George shoved the doors wide, a large hand caught one before they could close. The knight towered over him, and the scarred hand adjusted his mask as the other ruined the king's chances to escape alone. Wordlessly, George continued his journey out, refusing to meet Dream's partially-obscured gaze. He was almost certain he heard a soft snicker behind him.

____

He was adjusting to having a permanent shadow, but that didn't mean he'd been enjoying himself. It had only been a day of Dream's company, but he already had to deal with snide comments ("Don't get killed by falling from the window, your majesty, that'd be upsetting for the history books..."), exaggerated concern anytime he took a bite of food ("Are you sure that's been tested and deemed safe, your majesty?"), and a total absence of alone time; it was getting more and more difficult to keep him around. He couldn't even spend his rare solitude the way he wanted: the book in front of him lay abandoned as he occupied himself with his thoughts.

As if summoned, George's door was pushed open, and he was greeted by his rage-inducing guard. 

"It's been quiet in here. Is everything alright?" Both of them knew he couldn't care less about what George was doing, nor was he particularly concerned about his safety. Apparently, he was just there to wreak as much havoc as possible on the king's psyche.

"Yes, _Dream_ , I'm fine," George muttered, not getting up or turning around from his desk. 

"You seem stressed," he smirked, stalking around the perimeter of the king. "Got any threats of attack looming over your shoulder? Someone after the crown? Hell, even hearing about romantic troubles would be riveting in comparison to what you've had me doing." 

"For someone meant to be protecting me, you're awfully content to see me suffer."

"That's because I am. I don't like you very much, you know."

"If I tried hard enough, which I'm willing to, saying that could be grounds for punishment," he replied, finally pushing in his chair and facing Dream.

"Because I've hurt the blessed King George's feelings?"

George's nostrils flared, and he decided he'd rather face the awkwardness of "your majesty" than be called "King George" by Dream. 

"No, because you've threatened me."

"It's not as if the kingdom would ever see you suffer. I know, as do you, that you'd kill anyone who tried to make it happen." The saccharine, taunting lilt that had been buried in such rotten words grated against George's ears. The sentence that Dream said with such nonchalance was the same one he never failed to deny.

"Self-preservation is a natural instinct, no matter the context," he said pointedly.

"From little Georgie to Cronus," Dream chuckled darkly, noticing that the book before the king was a selection of Greek myths, not something about battle or politics. 

"Don't compare me to someone like that. Cronus lost his battle. I haven't."

"Yes, and don't see this as grounds for punishment either, but I doubt your battle has started."

George wanted to make him explain himself, but something about how sure he sounded... _Something tells me that one answer will lead to fifty more questions_ , he thought. _Perhaps I should keep him around. I'd like to see if his predictions ever come true, not to mention that I want him by my side if they do._

"If I were to die, keep in mind that it would be your responsibility to die first." He received no response to that besides another strange smile, lit balefully by only a few lamps scattered around his desk. This time, he returned it. Dream left the room without any further remarks, and George couldn't help the feeling that it was a hollow victory.

____

Dream was pacing around the training field when George arrived. The only break they got from one another, other than when they slept, was when Dream worked with the other knights. The clouds in the sky were puffy and serene, but the stormy look on Dream's face seemed like it was there to combat them. The plush green grass could have turned to flames from just one furious glare given by the paler shade that composed his eyes. Even with his terrible face, the sun was glad to illuminate him. The golden rays that shone against his golden hair served as a twisted halo.

Meanwhile, from Dream's perspective, George had his own twisted halo: that crown which perched boastfully upon his head. His cloak was a presence that seemed to devour joy, providing a void similar to the voids across his kingdom Dream had once been surrounded by -- the absences in families, the famine who devoured crops, wherever you went, there was a lack. Of course, this wasn't an issue that George faced. Exuberant balls and exuberant faces were typical among him and his cronies, and that was what Dream resented. Even worse, he had become one of the people to benefit from the suffering he used to see. He tucked away his treasonous outlooks as George approached him.

"Are you finished, Sir Dream?" 

"Yes, although I was hoping you'd be too busy to demand my release today. I had imagined you would be less concerned with it if you truly wanted me gone." Both of them noted the unusual masquerade their conversations usually became, surface-level things that concealed jabs and threats, the strike followed by the parry in a new, horrifying format. Neither of them knew why, or what, they were fighting, but it didn't make them any less determined to come out as the champion. 

As always, Dream's vague sentence was followed by his maddening smirk, and both he and George were startled by a third voice's appearance nearby a second later.

"I thought you had been exaggerating his creepy smile," Nick said in a stage-whisper. George nearly smacked him for saying it in front of the owner of the "creepy smile," and the line of his mouth grew tight. Dream said nothing, but a hint of his eyebrows rose above the cutoff line his mask gave. He laughed lightly at how his expression had already become known as an ominous symbol.

"I can tell that George _loves_ my smile. After all, he's been kind enough to mention it to someone as close to him as you, how could he not?" As anger made the king's blood run hot, not sure how his _guard_ had just used his real name so casually, a wonderfully amusing idea hit Dream. He waited to execute it, nodding when necessary and leaving when George did, playing his role the exact way he had intended to. A flawless protector on the surface, a confusion-inducing heathen beneath that.

____

As George read in his quarters silently, Dream abandoned his post outside, traveling to the king's unoccupied study. He then hijacked a pot of ink and dipped the tip of his sword into it. The mask that ordinarily framed his face was now cupped in his left hand, and his right, sword-holding hand made one long swoosh and two smaller dotting motions against the concealing object. He sneered down at it. The beauty of a permanent smile for George to be tortured by was too great to pass up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KNIGHT DREAM SUPREMACY
> 
> (please help how do you get clout on this website??!?!11!?)


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, George," a voice singsonged. "You might want to wake up..."

George, who had been sleeping peacefully, rubbed his eyes with a groan. Seconds later, he sprung up in his bed, looking incredibly startled.

"What? I thought you were outside the room!" In front of him, Dream was lounging in a chair, letting his hand swing back and forth as it hung off one of the plush arms. Observing the scene before him reluctantly, George noticed the face that the man's mask now had sketched on it. It caused his velleity for his guard's death to return in full force. He felt guilty, for just a moment, until he remembered that Dream's only motivator was spite: it was quite obvious, it even reflected in the disguise he wore so proudly. He decided, once again, that there was _nothing_ wrong with having a hatred for his awful guard.

"News waits for no man, your majesty, and I have some that's awfully important," he said, but the playful speech carried an unmistakably serious undertone, and that had the king fully awake. It might've been the first time he heard his guard sound genuine, and his ears perked up with curiosity.

"What happened?" he asked, holding in a defeated groan.

"Actually, it may be best if Wilbur's the one you discuss this with," Dream decided. It was unclear if he originally had this kind of a ploy in mind; waking George to wave the tantalizing scent of news in front of him, and then move it just barely out of reach. Instead of wasting time complaining, he swung himself out of bed, staring at the floor, lest he stare at the knight across the room. He could feel Dream's eyes boring into his back. Perhaps it was odd for him to be in that situation, to see George in a too-large shirt and too-short pants rather than regalia. He decided that he didn't give a damn about what the other man thought. 

As he dressed, he could hear the quiet scrape of metal coming from the knight's chair. George turned around slightly and spotted Dream running his metal-plated fingers against his sword. It was a bit threatening, and he chose to disregard it.

As he placed his crown on his head, Dream slid his sword into its scabbard and rose. He held the door open for the king, and although it seemed like a respectful action, George felt like he had been derided. 

____

Wilbur was waiting for them in the throne room, and other than him, the hall lay deserted. George decided to ignore his throne and sit beside the guard and the advisor, crossing one leg over the other. 

_Wilbur and Dream next to one another are like a perfect contrast_ , he observed. Wilbur's posture was formal, his hands neatly folded in front of him, but Dream had collapsed in his chair. His arms rested on his legs, he was leaning forward, and the position of his feet was ever-fluctuating. It was a sign of whelved anxiety, and it was strange to see something like that slip through the walls he seemed to have established around himself. A loud creak emanated from Dream's chair as he shifted around once more. Wilbur cringed lightly and took it as an invitation to begin speaking.

"Your majesty, you're aware that things have been rocky with our neighbors to the north, but I'm not sure if _anyone_ knew how much things had escalated. Ekosia, while struggling, is nowhere near the level Crozouthia is. Their people have an appetence for revenge, and their rulers seem to have adopted it. They're angling towards war, claiming they deserve our resources more than we do, that they would be more capable of running the kingdom and caring for its subjects. It doesn't sound like they'll be easily swayed." Most of his sentences were blurted out in quick succession, and his nerves seemed to have appeared in his voice instead of his body language. George sucked in a deep breath, fingers drumming against his leg. He looked over to Dream, whose fingers were also in movement. His, however, were focused on clenching and unclenching to crack his knuckles aggressively. "There's one other thing that needs to be mentioned," Wilbur said, growing even more hesitant.

"What else?" asked George, steeled for whatever he was going to hear.

"These warnings were sent to us in a letter," he began, suddenly speaking animatedly with his hands instead of staying petrified. For a moment, it made George forget what his friend was actually describing. He seemed like he could've been a storyteller from one of the small villages scattered around the kingdom, not an advisor trying to prevent war. "And there was mention of a knight who refers to himself, or is referred to, as 'The Blade.' I couldn't tell if it was a self-imposed alias or a nickname given to him, but the reason I asked Dream to be here was that I wanted to know if he'd heard of whoever this knight is." 

A lazy smile had been playing on Dream's lips, but it slowly melted away as Wilbur talked about the mysterious man who was helping Crozouthia. He let out a long sigh and admitted tensely, "Yes, I have."

"Excellent," George said. "Is there any information you can offer us about him?"

"Well, he's the reason I've got this fucking scar," he snarled, pointing towards his lip and losing his composure for the first time George had been able to see. Wilbur appeared to be alarmed by the knight's speech but didn't comment on it. Meanwhile, George glared at him venomously, knowing that his actions might not be louder than his words but could still offer a warning of what was to come.

"If you're going to work under me, you _cannot_ speak in such an improper fashion."

"Not fond of foul language?" His composure was no longer missing, and his usual suffocating confidence had returned in its place. "I'm sorry, your majesty, but it won't be going away."

Wilbur's eyes were bouncing back and forth between the knight and the king confusedly, every sentence making him question his decision about Dream guarding George further. 

"Fine then, go _fucking_ wild. I won't be the person who does it, but I _will_ laugh if someone ever tries to cut out your tongue for what you say." Dream looked like the cat who caught the canary for getting a rise out of the king, and George was hit with waves of nemesism for playing into the other man's plan.

Before an uncomfortable silence could settle, small, held-back chuckles broke the curse. Wilbur had a fist held in front of his mouth, and he hurried to clear his throat when he noticed stares on him. "When I recommended Dream," he said slowly, "This was not how I imagined things to turn out." As the two feuders looked at him indignantly, he exclaimed, "I thought you might at least get along!"

"Well then, you should've thought harder," George dismissed. Wilbur was no longer laughing, rather, he stared at the king strangely. He returned the glance, and for one odd moment, neither of them knew what to say.

"So, Dream. 'The Blade' gave you your scar. How?" Wilbur asked to break the tension.

"First of all, don't call him 'The Blade.' It'll only boost his ego if you ever have the displeasure of meeting him, and he doesn't need that. I don't know what his real name is, but I know that what he typically goes by is Technoblade, not _the_ blade." George nearly laughed aloud as he thought to himself, _Why must all knights have nicknames or covers they refuse to explain?_ Dream continued, interrupting George's internal discussion. "And I usually avoid talking about this, but I suppose you've gotten lucky. Techno and I both grew up in Crozouthia." Faces that had originally winced at the friendly nature of the nickname "Techno" contorted into looks of horror. "Don't assume I'm a spy or traitor, I was exiled from there two years ago. It's how I ended up here."

"If you don't want me to believe you're going to betray us, prove to me that you won't. I want to know _everything_ about Technoblade, _everything_ about the Crozouthian army, and _everything_ about their king, Edward." Dream's cool, collected smile given in response was removing all of the confidence that had coursed through George a moment ago.

"Gladly. Starting with Technoblade: he's extremely methodical. He'll duel for an hour, match every strike you make, and once you've tired yourself out, he'll win as he laughs in your face. He may be only one person, but if King Edward has him on his side, we need to watch out. I would imagine a deadly patience like his is even more worrying in a potential war."

"Can you describe what happened when you fought him? Or at least, I assume you have, with the scar and description..." Wilbur trailed off.

"Yes, I have. And it was certainly a strange fight. We were both knights when I lived there, and what we were doing was supposed to be a training duel, but things got out of control. We had a bit of a rivalry, but when Techno faced me, he looked like he would've killed me if he could've." George observed the way he spoke. For such a grim topic, he didn't seem bothered. He had even returned to his relaxed seating position, the original questions about Technoblade made him stiffen in his seat, but Dream was now entirely at ease.

"He probably should've, too," George grumbled.

"Come on now," Dream said, "You can say things like that to me, but I can't to you?"

"No, because I'm a king, and it's much more likely for me to get assassinated than you!" He could've sworn he saw the knight roll his eyes through the holes in his mask. Wilbur was stunned by their interactions once more, and George wished this meeting had never occurred. Information about The Blade be damned, he would much prefer going to war _without_ Dream by his side.

"If information is what you want, you're slowing me down..." the knight hummed. When no one interjected, he continued. "I'm not sure what you'd like to hear about the army that you wouldn't already know. They're ragtag, poorly trained, all of it, but they are _vicious_. They go with the strategy of 'if we can't fight well, we fight dirty.'" The firmness of his tone was disturbing, almost _bruising_ , and it made George realize how final that meeting was. He was, most likely, going to war. He had a chance to see if his guard lived up to the stories people told. Even better, a chance to outperform him. The king rose from his chair, and by instinct, Wilbur stood up with him.

"We're done here. I won't need information on King Edward, I'll deal with him myself. Wilbur, please send back a letter arranging for me to meet with the Crozouthian king and Technoblade."

"Alright, your majesty," he said, bowing his head slightly before leaving.

Dream looked over to George, meeting his eyes, and was filled with glee by what he saw. That brown stare was no longer icy, but ablaze. Swirling around inside them was the most horrendously beautiful combination of trepidation and excitement he had ever witnessed.

____

The next time he got to see that expression on the king's face was as they walked in, side by side, to meet Crozouthia's king. Dream's silver armor gleamed as if it was made of diamonds, George's golden crown was sharp enough to sting and bright enough to burn. Fire scorched the pit of Dream's belly, crawling up his throat to reflect in his peekaboo gaze. Cold water ran from chills down George's spine, across his body, and all the way up to shine from his eyes. Next to one another, they looked like the most vicious piece of artwork to ever bless the sight of a human -- and it was enough to make King Edward _tremble_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ever since my last update, the hits on this have quadrupled, thank you all so much :) i really appreciate all the kudos and feedback
> 
> anyways, very dialogue-heavy chapter, but look at me developing a plot -- this was unexpected


	4. Chapter 4

King Edward's eyes darted between the men entering his castle, the alarm he felt growing with every step they took. George's appearance looked tinged with malice, touched by some shriveled, evil-embedded claw from an ancient tale told to frighten children. And if the king was influenced by that creature of legend, taken under its wing to participate in some wretched scheme, Dream could have played the role of the monster with ease. His strides were so commanding that it looked like he could shake the earth with every one.

As they neared the Crozouthian leader, another figure entered the room: Technoblade. He wore red beneath his armor, a neckline of fur and hints of golden thread also visible. George noted the difference between that and the bits of green, less flamboyant clothing peering out of Dream's armor. But when these variations were cast to the side, there was a glaring similarity between the knights, and it was their covered faces. What Technoblade wore had horns, sharpening his face into a point from the angle it sat. He was wearing an animal's skull. George wondered what his reason was: was it like what Dream did, for anonymity? Was it just a tactic to appear in a more threatening way? Did it have some kind of significance, some interesting story as to why that particular animal was killed and worn?

Dream walked ahead of George, unwilling to wait for an invitation to sit. The king nearly laughed when he saw that there was only one other place to go, directly across from King Edward, and most likely reserved for him. Dream pulled out the chair, beckoning George with a tilt of his head, allowing him to pass. He raised his eyebrows as Dream smiled mischievously. Him playing the role of the valiant, dutiful guard was ironic, and George suspected he found it just as funny. He slid into his seat as the knight moved into position behind him, opposite Technoblade, who stood near his own king.

If anyone in the room had a full perspective, they would have noticed the strange oppositions in the pairings. Dream stood beside George with grudging respect, resigned to his position. He was not cheery, but he almost looked glad, thankful to feel at odds with the monarch. And yet, facing the duo, there was a much more sinister layout. One in which the king was beneath the guard, where the leader silently cowered in fear of the one he was meant to control. Technoblade stood like a self-satisfied puppet master, watching the chaos unfold he knew he had caused with hubris. His bone-covered face angled downward, and King Edward took it as an invitation to begin speaking.

"You wanted to meet with us, your majesty," his voice rang out. No one was attentive enough to notice the undercurrent of dread present in it. "And I must be honest, I do not think we have much to discuss."

"You may not have anything to say now, but I hope you will in a moment. You could tell me why in _God's_ name I'm supposed to believe you're more capable than I am, you can try to tell me that you're no longer going to be a coward on the battlefield. But still, _I will not care about your defense_. You're unfit, Edward, and I know it hurts your ego that your junior is a better leader than you are, but it means I will _never_ allow you into my kingdom," George seethed.

The other king sputtered, his round cheeks going red as he moved to adjust his cloak. His was a strange shade of orange: tacky, jarring, and most certainly clashing with the red of Technoblade's gear. George mirrored him, allowing the velvety, deep blue material of his own and allowing it to offer a sense of calm. Very lightly, almost imperceptibly, Dream tapped the tip of his sword against the side of his king's leg with a small grin. It seemed like approval at what he had said. George saw the animosity hidden behind his mask, and he noted it, already planning to ask Dream about his experiences with King Edward.

"Your majesty, I'm going to have to disagree," Technoblade said flatly, breaking the silence. George couldn't tell if his disinterest was feigned or genuine. Before he could reply, Dream joined in.

"And why would that be, Techno?" He was smirking openly, and both knights seemed to be taking this as a challenge much larger than a spat over the Ekosian king's capabilities.

"Well, your king hasn't lasted in his position for even a year yet. Besides," he continued, starting to address George instead, "the real reason you became king was that your fool of a father was too trusting. You wouldn't want to repeat his mistake, would you?" The air George was breathing had grown thick, filling his lungs and spinning through them in frantic circles. He was starting to understand the fury this man inspired in Dream.

"It's a good thing that I won't. Besides, I'm sure there's a reason why you're not the leader of _this_ country. The king might look like your pawn, but does that mean you're too weak to become king yourself?" George asked, smiling ruthlessly at the expression Technoblade bore. From behind the bony mask, his jaw clenched. "Maybe the first thing you should work on if what you're after is power is concealing your emotions. You were very easy to provoke."

Without offering anything else, dissatisfied by the lack of responses, George stood. Dream unsheathed his sword, and both watched as Techno instantly reached for his in return and unchecked panic flashed across King Edward's face. Dream pointed the sword between the two men on the opposite side of the dark table, grinned, and drew it dangerously close to his own throat. Impressed at a threat being given in a kingdom that was not their own, George couldn't hold back a soft smirk. He left, Dream followed.

He knew nothing had been solved, and he had probably just made his situation worse, but at that moment, he didn't care. It had been much too satisfying to say those things and watch his guard's reactions to them. If it brought war, it brought war. He had never liked King Edward anyway.

As he and Dream walked out of the castle, escorted by a handful of knights who had traveled to Crozouthia with them, he caught Dream by the arm.

"Once we get home, I want to talk to you," he said, waiting for a response as Dream escaped his grasp and mounted his horse. He nodded once, and without saying anything more, rode away. George shook his head, feeling like he had grown far too fond of the blunt behavior his guard always exhibited. 

____

George sat in his chair by the window, the same place that gave him the guard he was about to speak with. Tapping on the armrest, he heard a couple of raps on the door. 

"Come in," he called out.

"What if that had been an assassin, hm?" asked Dream, wandering over to the other seat. "There's no way to _know_ that it's me." 

"You'd probably let the assassin in, Dream," he replied. He sounded frustrated, but he also chuckled a little as he said it. Dream looked surprised to hear George join in on the jokes he was usually the one to make, but he did the same and laughed. 

"What was it that you wanted to talk about, your majesty?" The tinge of mockery whenever he said "majesty" was yet to leave.

"I can tell you've held back," George said, discreetly watching for any change in the knight's body language. "I saw you today when we talked to Technoblade and King Edward. There are things you haven't mentioned about them, aren't there?"

Thankfully, there had been no need to watch him so carefully. George would've had to be blind to not notice the way Dream stiffened when he posed his question.

"Yes," Dream said, resigned. "There are."

"What didn't you mention?" 

"I suppose I don't have any choice other than telling you. It might be easier for me to show it." Nimbly, he stood and began to unbuckle his breastplate, allowing it to land on the floor with a clang. George observed him silently, unsure of what he was doing. Dream lifted the hem of his shirt, and on the lower portion of his back, George could see several intersecting scars. The puckered skin looked like it had healed years ago, but it was clear that whatever happened had presumably been debilitating.

"What happened?" George murmured. There was nothing else for him to do besides prod, and he felt guilty, but he needed to know what had caused that.

"Edward's a real fucking prick," he laughed bitterly, "That's what."

"Do you mean he did that to you? Why?"

"Knights who weren't 'up to par' were punished, yes." He picked up the armor, movements slightly sluggish. 

"What did you do?"

"What was I supposed to do? I improved. And of course, the king was too afraid to do it himself, so it was his favorite knights that got to hurt everyone else. That was why I got myself exiled." George stared at him, dumbstruck. "Either you're not good enough and _you_ constantly get fucked up, or you're so good that you get to be one of the ones who fuck _everyone else_ up. I wasn't going to spend the remainder of my adult life lashing scared teenagers." 

The king heard the defiance in his tone, how he still felt like he needed to rebel against the place that had trapped him.

"Thank you for telling me," he said softly. He wanted to offer some kind of comfort or reassurance, it was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't conjure any up. Dream bowed his head and left without another word, lacking any hint of the vulnerability he had just shown.

As soon as he left, George slumped down in his chair and held his head in his hands. He looked over to the nightstand beside his bed, and his crown sat there, staring him down. At that moment, it did not feel like a symbol of power. It felt like a reminder of life's unfairness, of the varying hands of cards that whatever higher power there was dealt to people. He glared at it in return. As soon as he could tell that there were no footsteps in his hallway, he walked toward the grotesque thing, the one that could hide evil behind the guise of doing good for a handful of subjects. George threw it towards the ground, watched it bounce and heard the satisfying _ding_. He collapsed onto his bed the moment after.

____

George couldn't stop remembering the story Dream had so reluctantly told him, no matter what he did. He picked up a book and saw his scars, took a bite of food while he heard his quiet mourning for the knights that were left behind, tried to sleep and could only think of his anger and disappointment as he said "What was I supposed to do?" 

He had never been more willing to go to war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my day be so fine
> 
> and then boom
> 
> i write block men fanfiction
> 
> feedback, i beg 🤲


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